


breathe in, hold it, hold it

by ThisJoyAndI



Category: The White Queen (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 06:39:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisJoyAndI/pseuds/ThisJoyAndI
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(go on, begin)<br/>Anne contemplates Richard's questions. 'And he desires to know if she loves her. Desires to know if she loves the king, desires to know if she will remain loyal to the Yorkist cause her father betrayed. How can he ask such a thing?' Set during episode 1x05 of 'The White Queen'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	breathe in, hold it, hold it

_Do you love me Anne?_

She stares unblinking up at his face, at the eyes her sister deemed ‘funny’. Eyes she considers intriguing, and ones she can see much better with his hair pushed back from his brow.

All that seems so long ago, in a time when she foolishly thought she deserved to be happy. The gold band of her wedding ring cuts into the tender flesh of her palm as she squeezes her hands into fists in anxiety. She has not yet taken it off, too shaken after her encounter with the Yorkist soldiers.

Richard’s question rings in her ears, and she finds it odd that he considers this a good time to question her about her feelings. But then again, Richard has always been slightly odd, a boy preferring to sit in solitude than bask in the warmth of the court’s worship.

The sound of swords clashing together in a harsh melody still lingers in her mind, the image of bloody war right in front of her. There are bruises on her arms from the clutches of the men who tried to hurt her before Richard came. Faded marks on her inner thighs and wrists still remind her of her husband, but he is passed now and she cannot remain angry for fear it shall consume her. The grass of the fields has been trampled down into green mush, mud seeping through the grass. She lowers her eyes to her ruined shoes, and inhales deeply.

She would weep for the sadness of it all, but she is far past weeping.

Her husband is dead, but she feels nothing about his demise, only that she wishes she could have witnessed it, to have been the last thing her husband saw, a woman proud and strong, before his head was removed. Her father is gone, but it does not matter anymore. Margaret of Anjou is bound to a horse and will be paraded in London as an example of the Yorkist victory.

Nothing matters any more.

She looks up, her gaze weary. Richard is standing in front of her, clad in full armour and his hair pushed back from his brow. There are still splatters of dried blood present on his figure, but she does not bother to tell him.

_Do you love me…and the king?_

He desires to know if she loves him. Desires to know if she loves the king, desires to know if she will remain loyal to the Yorkist cause her father betrayed.

How can he ask such a thing?

After all she has experienced with her late husband and his lady mother, how could she dare to love again? Everyone she loves is dead, and she is a daughter of a traitor. Her mother is in hiding and Izzy is not by her side. Her father is dead, her husband is dead, and George will control the Warwick estates now. She will live on his charity, until a man deems her fit to marry.

Richard cannot think to love her, a widow who will certainly have no property and who is too bitter to feel anything but disgust at the sight of warfare and shiver at the thought of love. He is a York prince, utterly loyal to King Edward, and surely the King shall arrange a suitable match for him to consolidate the York rule. She, as sister to his brother’s wife, may have been considered before…but her father’s actions have ruined the possibility. How will the King forgive her for her traitorous actions when he needs to secure his rule for the son his queen has given him?

All she wants is a happy marriage, to bear children who she can adore, and that chance was snatched away from her by her father’s plotting. How can she retake her chance at a happy future when it has so drastically slipped her by?

Richard may have been able to save her from the clutches of the soldiers and from Margaret of Anjou, but he does not have the power to grant her happiness. The only thing that will make her happy, make her forget all the horrific things she has seen and lived through, is Richard’s love, and he will never be able to share his life with her due to her father’s plotting.

Richard breathes out sharply, his breath white fog in the cold. She shivers in response to his movement, her hands seeking out the warmth of her fur lined sleeves.

She is supposed to be a Lancastrian princess, not a widow, a dowager princess. She is supposed to be happy, and she thought Edward would come to love her if she bore him a son. But all he did was make her tremble in fear and weep for the horrible situation her father had condemned her to.

How could Richard be any different? He is a man just the same.

But she does love him. God willing, she will love him until she passes from this world, will pass from this world with his name on her lips.

Her response to his questioning is a gentle nod, her mouth incapable of speech. Her lips curve up into a tender smile, and she flushes slightly.

Richard smiles affectionately down at her, his eyes meeting hers.

_Let’s hope that’s enough for Edward._

And she thinks that if anyone could make her happy after all this tragedy, if anyone could give her a chance at happiness, Richard will.

 

 


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